


a wild river to take you home

by marchosias



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, M/M, Rescue, Slow Burn, we stan our big sword man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchosias/pseuds/marchosias
Summary: After a seemingly inconsequential bandit camp raid, Eivor finds they have taken an unlikely captive - Leofrith. He is taken in to Ravensthorpe to recover and ends up finding a place for himself. Multi-chapter H/C fix-it. Will most likely only loosely stick to canon.
Relationships: Eivor/Leofrith (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	1. neptune

_see me when i float like a dove_  
_the skies above are lined with trees_  
_i'm on my knees, i'm singing, please_  
_come and take me away  
_ _neptune - foals_

If Leofrith thought back to the siege, of the smell of smoke in his lungs and the battle with the drengr Eivor, of being on his back and at the mercy of another – sure his life was about to end – he never would have thought he would be spared. But then a rough and battle-hardened hand had reached down to him, and a voice spoke that he should not die today. The resultant relief was enough to fall down at the banks of the river, his knees sinking heavily into the wet silt.

Abandoned. By his king. He had done everything right, served faithfully and fixed Burgred’s fuck-ups when they arose. And he had been abandoned for it. If there was a God now, surely He was laughing at Leofrith’s expense.

Passage to Rome seemed too easy to book, and Leofrith made his way to Lincoln by way of feed-cart, wrapped in a ragged cloak. He was jostled roughly about but grateful to not be walking. Looking out at the countryside, Leofrith could not help but feel… robbed. It was his right to stake his claim here, and yet he now found himself seeking to hunt down Burgred for what he had done. And where would it get him? He would return to England and pick up the pieces, or maybe wander Rome, find his place in the city...

All at once, the feed cart stopped with a jolt and agitated voices filtered through the thin cloth covering his head. Here he was, a once-feared War-Thegn hunched in the back of an oat cart like some stowaway. To anyone else unconcerned with the truth, he would appear a criminal, a runaway.

Footsteps circled around to the end of the feed-cart and the canvas covering him was ripped away, sunlight blasting into his eyes. For a moment Leofrith was blinded, and then was faced with the tip of a sword pointed at him.

Bandits. Of course. This whole venture was too easy.

His nature overtook him before he could stop himself, leaping to his feet and unsheathing his large sword and crashing it into the side of the nearest bandit. The man yelped and crumpled, but not before one of his cohorts smashed a pouch to the ground, unleashing a fog of dark, foul-smelling smoke. Leofrith instantly choked, coughing and sputtering but kept a grip on his sword. The smoke stung his eyes and lungs and he dropped to his knees then.

Figures emerged from the smoke and a sharp pain cracked the back of his head, then darkness.

~

Leofrith awoke to a screaming headache, darkness all around. He registered dampness on his cheek and looked around, noting he was laying on his side in the mud. He looked up and realized he was caged with his hands bound behind his back. Fuck. How had he gone from War-Thegn to prisoner in some disgusting soggy bandit camp in a matter of days?

He groaned and sat up, looking out of his cage. He did not appear to be the only prisoner. To his left huddled a few men, tunics dirty and torn. Their cage, to Leofrith’s reasoning, was bigger but there were six men within - Leofrith having been stored in his own, albeit smaller, prison. He reasoned he could not even stand to his full height within. What he assumed were their weapons lay in a graceless jumble in the open area in front of the cages, almost as if to taunt the captive soldiers.

And there, tossed carelessly amongst the steel, was his own precious greatsword.

“Damned bandits…” he murmured, leaning back against the bars. He was ready to crush skulls.

Their cages were towards the back of the camp from what Leofrith could see, next to a larger structure that seemed to serve as the home for whichever bastard called themselves the leader of these wretched dogs. Various men and women in ragged black clothes sat around a campfire, eating from bowls. Some others milled around towards the perimeter, serving as night watch. At once, footsteps approached and before he could steel himself, a bowl was plopped down in front of the cage and nudged inside with the toe of a ragged boot. Leofrith looked up and saw only a face wrapped in cloth, identity concealed.

“What is this?”

“Eat it or starve, Saxon, I care not.” Came the raspy, dismissive voice as he moved on and set two bowls in front of the soldiers’ cage. Collectively, their hands were unbound, and one soldier clasped the bowls and passed them around the hungry men. Leofrith watched, then looked to his own bowl. He could stand to only eat half of it. A few soldiers in the next cage over looked dangerously gaunt. No telling how long they had been held here.

Thoroughly undignified, Leofrith leaned forward and sipped out of the bowl as best as he could with his hands bound, then turned to grasp the lip of the bowl in his hands. He backed towards the other cage, whistling softly to the soldiers. “Here,” he indicated, jostling the bowl slightly to indicate they take it.

He looked over his shoulder to watch the premier soldier regard the bowl and nodded in encouragement. The man’s face seemed to relax and he reached through the bars to take the bowl.

“Thank you, good man. What is your name?”

Leofrith felt entirely disheartened. He didn’t want to breathe his name in this space, “Eivor,” he gave unbidden, the name of the Norseman coming to his mouth of its own accord.

“Funny name for a Saxon, but you’re generous.”

A single mirthless laugh escaped Leofrith. “You’re telling me.”

Leofrith did as best as he could to settle down on his side with his hands still bound. He had found what seemed like the driest bit of ground and let the exhaustion consume him, drifting off into sleep.

_White doves scattered up from a bush, one caught in the claws of a raven and its beautiful heart ripped from its white chest by a huge dark beak… a white and a black horse standing in a clearing, noses touched together… a huge, towering fire ablaze on a green hilltop… a roar tearing Leofrith’s throat…_

And then the grinding creak of a cage door opening.

Leofrith startled up from his fitful dreams, looking up to the same masked bandit who fed him yesterday.

“Get up.” He barked down at Leofrith.

As much as it chagrined him to comply, Leofrith stood, having to hunch in the short cage. The morning sun was making a weak attempt at peeking through the low grey clouds. He glowered down at the bandit, sneering. There was nothing he could do to threaten the bandit with his hands still bound but his face was still free. His expressions weren’t caged.

“Follow me.”

Leofrith reasoned he could make a run for it. He was fast despite his size. But among the various archers stationed around the perimeter, it stood to reason that at least one could probably hit him. He would die choking on his own blood, face down in the mud. Leofrith instead decided it would probably be smartest to obey the command for now. He followed the bastard bandit where he intended to lead, eventually coming upon a crude stone ring surrounding dark-turned up earth. Across the ring, a separate bandit had kicked one of the shortest soldiers from Leofrith’s neighboring cage into the ring. He stood almost shaking, his only clothing a pair of ratty trousers, bare chest stained with swipes of mud.

_‘The lad doesn’t look much older than Ceolbert…’_

Leofrith shook his head at the thought of his former charge. Cannot go there. Not now.

A boot at the small of his back made him stumble slightly but was not enough to move his mass into the ring.

“Get in there, brute.”

Leofrith grumbled but stepped into the ring, and a wondrous thing happened. His bindings were cut the moment his boots touched the loamy earth. Exultantly he stretched his arms and flexed, opening and closing his hands. God, did it feel good to just stretch.

A willowy man that Leofrith assumed to be what passed for a leader in this bandit camp soon approached, eyeing both of the captives. He appeared to be the most well-groomed of the bunch, but his red hair hung in a greasy uneven chop to his ears and his voice was a scrape of nails on steel.

“You there, big one, you’re going to fight this one,” the leader pointed to the smaller soldier, as if Leofrith could possibly be confused as to who he was referring to, “until I say to stop.”

“And what if I don’t?” Leofrith, defiant.

“I’m sure you know what we’ll do.”

Leofrith set his jaw, pulse quickening. A small crowd had formed, surrounding the ring in their mismatched garb, sounding like chittering rats as they tittered amongst themselves. They leered and pointed at him, but beyond them was something more disconcerting – a huge bandit with a wicked-looking axe, no doubt stolen from a wayward patrol. Even in unskilled hands the axe could do damage. And he was outnumbered and surrounded with no allies.

The smaller soldier raised his fists in a sparring stance and Leofrith’s heart nearly broke. In all his battles, he fought men who thirsted for the fight, who threw themselves into the bloodshed knowing and relishing the fact they were dancing with death. They gnashed their teeth but smiled when they knew they were bested, as they knew they were coming to their death with courage and heart.

There was fear in the soldier’s eyes. He knew he could not win. And he knew the bandits would not call them apart until one of them was laying still in the dirt.

The soldier knew it would be him.

Leofrith hesitated. What he reasoned was a sword jabbed in his back. Leofrith felt a trickle of blood seep down the curve of his back and raised his fists slowly. The smaller soldier wasted no time and charged him then, gripping his arms and grappling him. The position brought their heads down, close to each other as they pushed into the body of the other.

“Make it quick,” was the quiet furtive whisper in Leofrith’s ear, “I don’t wanna suffer, already done enuffa’ that.”

Leofrith shoved at the soldier but they didn’t break apart.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Leofrith shoved mightily then, loosing the soldier’s grip on him and knocking him on his ass into the dirt. The assembled bandits cheered, a cacophony that drove a spear into Leofrith’s pounding head.

The soldier got up and charged again, leaping at Leofrith with a wiry strength. Leofrith knocked him back into the loam with a swipe of his arm. Again, the soldier leapt, but he could tell the lad was already tiring; by all accounts he was weeks out from a square meal and exercise. The sudden exertion was too much for his body. He leapt once more and caught Leofrith by the neck of his tunic, dragging him down and the piece of clothing off of his body, leaving him bare above his waist as well .

Leofrith shook out of the garment and caught him then easily, threading his arms behind the lad’s head. He could feel his pulse against the inside of his arm, beating hard. The bandits were screaming now, a jumble of sound that almost deafened him. He had to make this quick, he had to finish this.

“I’m sorry,” Leofrith spoke again, and moved with speed, cracking the soldier’s neck in a crunch that would stay with him, he knew. He crumpled to the dirt and Leofrith couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He had seen bodies upon bodies on countless battlefields before, but this was different.

The bandits were elated, jumping and stamping their feet, hooting like baby owls. Leofrith’s blood ran cold – what if they brought him the next-most starved soldier? What would he do then?

But the masked bandit ushered Leofrith quickly back to his cage, binding his hands again. The larger Saxon was too swept away in his own thoughts of what just happened to resist being all but dragged back to his cage. He went in like a fucking tamed animal and the lock again clicked shut. He kept his eyes on his boots. The cold wind blew around Leofrith and he realized his tunic was trampled in the mud of the ring. Part of him wanted to lean out of the bars and curse one of these bandits until it was brought back to him, but he could not bring himself to do anything but sit and stretch his legs before him. Leofrith leaned back against the bars and closed his eyes.

_Hoofbeats, splashing through a river_

They came for him the next day.

_The scream of a hawk on the wing_

They came for him the day after.

_A wolf’s howl, echoing through the hills_

They came for him the day after that.

_The scrape of metal on leather_

On the fifth day, he was left alone.

The whole day, no one paid him attention. The fighting, the killing against his will… Leofrith had had enough. They had been feeding him progressively less, seeing how much of his strength they could drain and still pit him against the dwindling number of soldiers in the cage next to him. But every time, Leofrith won the match. There were only two left. He refused to look at them, refused to commit any more of them to his memory than he had to.

The sun waned into a low red glow behind the hills. Leofrith doubted he would be fed again. He would waste away in this filthy rotting cage and be dumped in the woods for the creatures to feed on his flesh. His jaw worked, sending an ache into his head. This was not how he would die. It could not be.

A single raven wheeled in the air above him. She made two wide passes around the perimeter of the camp, huge lazy ovals in the sky. Then she disappeared. Leofrith stared where she had retreated. He could imagine wings sprouting from his back, possessed of God’s strength to bend the bars and take flight.

Not sooner than the huge raven had vanished did Leofrith hear the unrest amongst the bandits, the few lazing in his line of sight picking up their weapons and heading for the front of the camp. The masked bandit who had ushered Leofrith to the ring the past week took his place in front of the cages, hand tightening on his sword.

The shouts grew louder from the front of the camp and Leofrith smelled the unmistakable scent of burning cottages.

Oh God, this truly was a raid.

Leofrith, still on his knees, tried to peek around the buildings. He heard more shouting and the clamor of steel. A small explosion sounded and the masked bandit in front of his cage tensed.

It happened so quickly. A whisper and the low whir of displaced air and the bandit collapsed, a dark shape descending upon him. And there stood Eivor, clad densely in furs, gold spear embedded deep in the bandit’s chest. Leofrith watched as the vikingr ripped the spear out, a growl escaping him, the long blond braids of his hair and beard swaying.

Two other bandits rounded the corner and Eivor wasted no time, running at them and planting the butt of his spear in the ground, using the leverage to vault himself up to kick one of them square in the chest. The unlucky bandit went flying and Eivor crouched and thrust up into the neck of the other with his spear, deftly pulling it out as the bandit crumpled. He turned his attention to the other on the ground. Eivor pulled an axe from his belt and approached, bringing the it down into the remaining bandit’s chest, the thunk and squish of blood almost too loud to Leofrith’s ears.

With the chance he seemingly had, Eivor reholstered his axe and turned to the cages. Leofrith stared, on his knees, still bound – as Eivor realized who was held captive before him. Light blue eyes widened and his mouth went soft, approaching quickly and dropping to his knees as well on the other side of the bars.

“Leofrith, is that you?”

“Aye.” His voice was a dry croak he didn’t recognize.

“Gods, how –“

“Get me out of here or get it over with, Eivor.”

He watched Eivor’s mouth twist in displeasure behind his long, braided beard. He batted at the huge lock on the cage and turned, struck by an idea. The vikingr bent and searched the prominent pouch the guard of the cages wore at his hip and found a crude silver key.

Eivor turned, lit as gold as the spear at his back by the fires that had advanced, smoke thick in the air. He let out the two remaining soldiers first. They stood against the far end of the cage and did not move when Eivor swung the door wide.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” He asked briskly, voice elevated above the din of battle.

The still-remaining captain nodded, grabbing his last man by the forearm. He led him to the pile of weapons before them and seized a sword and shield. The captain cast a nod then to Leofrith.

He had every right to sink his sword into Leofrith’s chest, but he didn’t. He understood. They were all animals in the hands of these bandits. And the tides were turning

“We have revenge to seek.” The hard-faced captain replied. Eivor nodded and the two ran off, the hunger of killing their captors quickening their step.

Eivor then busied himself with the lock on Leofrith’s cage. Leofrith remained on his knees, weakened by lack of food and captivity. He knew he had dropped a little of his muscle, was a little leaner. Then the vikingr sank down in front of him, a rough hand coming to his cheek. Leofrith startled at the touch, kind though it was.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Eivor’s voice was soft now, light and hushed, wind through pond reeds.

“Do you have water?” Leofrith rasped.

Eivor’s brows furrowed, retrieving the waterskin at his belt. He quickly offered the skin for Leofrith to drink from, wasting no time with cutting his bonds. And drink Leofrith did, greedily, little streams tracing down his chin and neck, tracking through the dirt on his bare chest and stomach. Despite the heat of battle, the water was cool and pure, unlike the vaguely muddy and warm water he was given… he could not remember the last time the bandits bothered to give him water.

Leofrith sat back on his heels, chest heaving as he finally took a breath. He looked up at Eivor then, really looked. His tattooed face was painted for battle, tattooed chest exposed beneath his furs. He was the picture of the berserker that his men would tell ghost stories about, the kind of warrior who ran through men with the silent step of death.

“Stand, Leofrith. I’m going to cut you free.”

He gathered his legs beneath him and stood as best he could, turning and offering his bonds. The ropes sang beneath the sharp point of Eivor’s axe and Leofrith nearly moaned at the pleasure of flexing his arms for the first time in days.

“Gods, Leofrith. You will have to tell me what happened here.”

“I will, Eivor. But I do not want to be standing in this cage any longer.”

Eivor quickly backed out and Leofrith followed, standing to his full height in the camp that had been his prison. Ash and smoke were thick in the air, and the triumphant cries of Eivor’s men were growing louder and louder. The huge raven he had seen earlier swooped down to perch on Eivor’s shoulder, shrieking at Leofrith before lighting off again, black wings against the orange flames.

He was possessed of a blood fever then. Leofrith advanced, going for his beloved greatsword he had stared out for nigh on a week now. His hands clasped about the grip and he could not help the bellow that ripped from his lungs. His feet carried him quickly away from Eivor and to the house that held the bandit leader. Leofrith knew his breath was coming ragged, could see the edges of his vision dimming. Vaguely he knew Eivor was behind him, the footsteps of the vikingr a reassuring beat in his head. He passed the ring where he was forced to kill for the entertainment of others.

His boots boomed on the front steps of the ramshackle cottage of the bandit leader. Holding his sword in one hand he reared back and put all of his weight into a kick that sent the front door flying off its meager hinges.

And there in the corner cowered the bandit leader, hands held up, beseeching mercy.

“Please… don’t…” his voice trembled as Leofrith advanced. Eivor filled the doorway behind the Saxon and the bandit leader yelped once more.

“You do not get to command me anymore, you rat.”

Leofrith raised his sword above his head, the guard he had practiced and practiced with his heavy blade coming back easy to his weary muscles. This kill was a deserved one, this kill was for the ones that could not choose their death, whose death was chosen for them at Leofrith’s hands.

The bandit leader made not a sound as Leofrith surged forward and sunk his sword into the man’s body. Somehow still sharp, he could hear the point grind against the wall on the other side of the man.

He withdrew, turning to Eivor. The vikingr was silhouetted in the doorway, something unreadable in his blue gaze, a wild animal that had come for him and set him free.

That was the last thing Leofrith remembered, the taste of freedom, before soft grey wings enfolded him and he felt no more.


	2. neptune, pt. 2

_now, in the vastness of pines_  
_where my ghost lies in loose-limbed array_  
_i pass the time_

_neptune - foals_

  


Eivor placed a hand to the Saxon’s neck, feeling a pulse there, light and fluttering. Though still a mountain of a man, he looked leaner than when Eivor had seen him last, and from the way he drank from Eivor’s waterskin like a desperately thirsty newborn goat, he was not cared for in the least here.

He bent then, rolling Leofrith onto his back. With a little difficulty, Eivor managed to sling the big man across his shoulders and walk out of the bandit leader’s house. The camp was thrown together, Eivor’s boots sinking into the wet mud at each step. It pained him to know Leofrith was kept here, despite their last adversarial meeting on the battlefield. He was a master tactician and a skilled fighter, not something to be taken for a prize by bandits.

 _“This was no place for you…”_ he rasped to himself.

Eivor made his way to the front of the camp, the sounds of his drengr army looting and taking what they could rumbling over the dying fires. A spitting rain had kicked up, soaking his braided hair and beard. A groan over his shoulder, and Leofrith stirred sluggishly.

“Hush, Leofrith. It’s over.”

“Mmm… can walk, ‘Vor…” Leofrith all but moaned.

Eivor leaned him over, planting the Saxon gently on his feet. He looked up at Leofrith and was alarmed by how white his skin had turned beneath his dark beard. Rain streaked down his chest, running the mud and dirt into stripes down his muscled middle.

“Sure you can,” Eivor quickly undid his cloak pin and reached up to secure it around Leofrith’s neck, doing what he could to shield him from the rain. The fur along the shoulders of the cloak bulked him out further. He watched as Leofrith’s jaw worked, something passing behind his dark eyes. Eivor then leaned in close and wrapped an arm around his waist, draping Leofrith’s arm around his shoulders.

“I’m just here to make sure I don’t have to pick you up again. Come now.”

Leofrith leaned into Eivor’s side as the vikingr shouldered his weight. The charred shells of the cottages around them smoldered lazily in the haze of rain.

“For being so short… you are strong…” Leofrith groaned softly.

Eivor laughed, the knot of tension in his chest easing a bit. Dehydrated and malnourished though he was, Leofrith was still spirited. A good start.

He wasn’t necessarily short… a little more compact than the average warrior but still thickly muscled, Eivor could more than hold his own.

“Surprised you could see me from all the way up there,” Eivor chuckled, making their way to the banks of the river where the elegant longship of the Raven Clan was docked. He loved the ship, always feeling a special kind of relaxation when he was posted at her stern, wind blowing through his hair and his beard.

A few drengr were in the boat already, securing oars and getting the ship ready to sail back to Ravensthorpe. Leofrith broke from him then, grumbling about supporting himself. He hopped into the boat and wobbled dangerously, Eivor’s cloak swaying on his shoulders. Eivor followed, catching Leofrith’s waist once more.

“Been a while since I sailed…” Leofrith mumbled, letting himself be moved once more, “Barely stopped vomiting then.”

“We can’t have that now,” Eivor felt like he was calming a spooked horse, patting Leofrith’s bare chest, “I will ask them to row slower, but it looks like a storm will be upon us.”

Leofrith sank to sit in the boat, the curve of her hull hiding him from anyone outside the boat looking in. He was by no means a secret; Eivor would come home from the neighboring provinces bringing all manner of wayward souls back with him. But Eivor now felt he had secured something valuable, and it sat funny in his chest. Their previous interactions – their battle and their resulting stalemate, held no true venom. Leofrith was fighting for what he thought was right, as was Eivor. But Leofrith had been lied to, had been set up to take the fall by Burgred while the disgraced king made his cowardly retreat. Eivor did not feel threatened by the Saxon now – what motivation would Leofrith have to hurt him?

His warriors clamored noisily back into the boat, rousing Eivor from his thoughts with their enthusiasm over a successful and relatively easy raid.

But Eivor didn’t feel the after-battle high. Rather, he felt that things just got much more complicated.

“Back home again, my Ravens! Take to the waters slow, we have time to enjoy our victory!” Eivor called as the boat was pushed from the shore. The creak of oars and the trusty hull was joined by the swish of parting water and they were moving down the river, markedly slower than their normal pace. Leofrith appeared to be fine, his eyes closed but face relaxed, wind ruffling his dark hair.

Eivor dropped a hand to Leofrith’s shoulder and the big man startled, eyes flying open. Again, Eivor’s chest tightened.

_When was the last time he had felt a caring touch?_

“How are you faring?” Eivor sank to sit on his heels beside the Saxon.

“Hungry. Tired. Thirsty. But not seasick. Yet.” Leofrith’s voice was low, exhausted. But he had a wry quirk to his lips and his eyes were alight when he looked to Eivor.

Eivor’s hands went to his belt, retrieving his waterskin and handing it over. Leofrith held it before him, almost not knowing what to do with it, expression truly open.

“Take this. There will be a feast in the longhouse tonight. You can eat and drink your fill and then demand more. But for now, just drink.”

Leofrith raised the skin to his lips and drank once more, careful not to spill any this time. Eivor patted his shoulder and stood again to command the ship home.

The open waters never failed to give Eivor clarity to his thoughts, but today… today he could not make sense of what swirled in his mind. The rain that threatened to turn the day soggy had blown away, the early morning sun rising and coloring the sky a vibrant pink and a soft orange. Eivor felt a bizarre pull to the man sitting at his feet. He truly did not know where the fates would send either of them next.

  


* * *

  


Eivor always loved seeing Ravensthorpe appear around the bend. He was proud of the modest settlement it had become, and in a way had become a place for those who had no home. His drengr picked up the pace, happy to be home. At his feet he saw Leofrith pull Eivor’s cloak closer around him, closing his eyes hard enough to crinkle the skin at their corners. He was still pale and appeared exhausted. The quicker he could get Leofrith to Valka, the better.

The Raven Clan warriors docked and filed off the boat, collecting their wares and weapons. Leofrith stood slowly, getting his legs beneath him in the slow wobble of the boat. Eivor leaped to the dock and offered his hands.

“Come, I’m going to take you to Valka.”

Leofrith took Eivor’s hands and climbed onto the dock, accepting the anchor that Eivor gave him. Then he stood somewhere that, before today, Eivor never thought he would stand – the dock of Ravensthorpe.

“Who, now?” Leofrith sounded so tired. He let himself be once again supported by Eivor, the drengr wrapping his arm around Leofrith’s waist.

“Our seer, she’s also a healer of sorts.” Eivor walked him up the gentle slope to the longhouse, nodding at those who came out to greet him, answering Reda’s enthusiastic wave with a kind smile. He could see Leofrith regarding those around him, eyes wary. He leaned a little more of his weight into Eivor with every step, what seemed like the last of his energy leaving him. Luckily, they were passing the stables and Valka’s hut was in sight, the waterfall crashing behind her quaint cottage.

“This is one of my favorite places in our whole settlement,” He murmured to Leofrith, stepping up to Valka’s door. The seer bustled out, shrewd eyes immediately roving over the two of them and assessing Leofrith’s condition. 

“Come in,” She intoned, turning and holding the bone curtain back for them.

Eivor ducked inside, letting Leofrith down on the small cot. He collapsed immediately, eyes falling closed and a great sigh escaping him. Eivor knelt at the side of the cot, loosing the cloak pin and letting it fall away from Leofrith’s still-bare chest. It was then that he noticed the dirt caked in Leofrith’s black hair, he crumbled a clod of it between his fingers.

“What has happened to him?” Valka asked softly.

“I found him in the bandit camp we raided. He was bound and locked in a cage. He has not had a square meal in…” Eivor shook his head, looking down at Leofrith’s form, “I don’t know when. A long time.”  
Leofrith laid still, chest rising and falling deeply now.

 _“When did he last sleep in a bed…?”_ Eivor thought, his heart breaking a little more.

“I will take care of him.” Valka quickly busied herself, taking a large cauldron down off a hook and thrusting it at Eivor. “Fetch me water. I will bathe him and brew him something that will help.”

Eivor gathered the cauldron in his arms, no choice but to comply. Valka was small and slight but her presence and knowledge made her bigger than she was. She could command anyone in the village, including Eivor, without much effort.

Eivor stepped out of her cottage and hefted the cauldron to the edge of the clear, cool pond. He filled it and lugged its now-considerable weight back into Valka’s house. He hung the pot on the chain, the fire licking up the sides of the vessel. There was something about the fires that Valka started – they always burned hotter and longer than any other fires Eivor had seen. 

Valka was at her worktable, grinding up some kind of fragrant roots and petals with a pestle. Eivor trusted her implicitly, he knew she would care for Leofrith as one of her own.

“Do not just stand there, Eivor, wash him before the water becomes too hot.” She turned and tossed a cloth to Eivor, who caught it deftly. She dipped a ladle into the rapidly-warming water and filled a small goblet, turning back to her pestle.

He was not sure when washing Leofrith had become his job, but it sure was now. Eivor knew better than to question Valka.

Carefully he dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, approaching Leofrith and kneeling at his side once more. The man stirred slightly at the touch of the warm cloth, shifting around and opening his eyes. Leofrith did not pull away, just observed him beneath heavy dark lashes. Eivor stared back. He wanted to ask what happened – what was his life like in captivity, how had he ended up there… but now was not the time. Eivor looked away, looked down to the swaths of tanned skin and scars he was revealing with every swipe of the cloth. Leofrith’s skin gleamed in the firelight, warmed and clean for the first time in Gods knew how long.

“Sit up, let me get your back.” Eivor whispered, turning to dunk the cloth once more and wringing it out.

With a groan, Leofrith sat up, battle-forged body slumping forward. Eivor moved to sit on the cot behind him. He worked as gently as he could, though he knew Leofrith was tough. But the more he thought, the more he realized that it did not hurt him to show some kindness to Leofrith. Especially when the man had been betrayed and then held captive like he had. It was likely the only contact he had before this event was the rough practice-sparring with his men – the forearm clasp of an agreement. A kind touch would comfort the soul of anyone, let alone someone who had been taken captive.

“That is fine, now let me have him,” Valka’s voice startled Eivor, making him jump. He stood, dropping the cloth at the edge of the cauldron. Valka shooed him towards the door, “You have preparations to make for the feast, Eivor, get out of here.”

“Okay, okay,” Eivor chuckled, realizing how exhausted he was then. The adrenaline of battle was wearing off and his muscles were aching.

Valka crowded him out, steaming cup of tea in hand. “I will give him this and feed him a bit. He will sleep. And then he will be ready for a large meal, please make sure he eats at the feast.” She put a small packet into his hand. A bar of soap, wrapped in waxed paper.

“And wash yourself too, sooner than later.”

Eivor laughed, closing his hand around the soap. Valka’s soap was extraordinary and always was a welcome treat after a hard day’s work.

“You hear that, Leofrith? I’m to make sure you gorge yourself later, do not be late.”

Leofrith looked up, creases at the edges of his eyes as he smiled small. “I am sure I will not need much encouragement.”

They shared a look then, something hanging in the air between them. Perhaps it was an understanding, but more likely – something else was unfurling slowly, a petal opening under the pearl gaze of the moon.

Eivor turned then as Valka swooped upon the Saxon. He stepped out of the cottage and sat at the edge of the cool pond. Slowly he removed his boots and his armor. He loosed his hair from the braids, doing the same to his beard. Soon he stood bare, wading into the clear water. He scrubbed his body with the soap, ducking his head beneath the water and combing through his hair. He floated on his back, refreshed from the wash in the cool water.

It was when he felt his eyes closing that Eivor decided to cut his bath short. It would serve no one for him to fall asleep and drown in a pool in his own village. Eivor sank beneath the surface one last time and emerged, shaking his arms and wringing his hair out. He slipped his trousers on, carrying the rest of his armor. It would need a wash as well, but it could wait for now. Eivor relished the feel of the dirt path beneath his bare feet, the late morning bringing activity to the village.

“Greetings, Eivor!” Rowan called, waving hugely from his post mucking stables – his perennial task.

“Rowan, how are you my friend?”

“Oh fair, drowning in horses as always,” He shrugged, leaning on to his pitchfork. Rowan nodded his head towards Valka’s cottage, “Who was that, on the verge of death he was, huh?”

Eivor felt his hackles raise, “He’s a warrior. He was in a bad way but he’s in good hands now.” He wasn’t sure how much of his situation Leofrith would want revealed, but Eivor felt he had to defend him anyways.

Now there was a strange feeling.

Rowan shrugged good-naturedly, “Ah, well, if he gets bored of being doted over, send him my way.”

Eivor laughed then, rolling his shoulders, “I’m sure he’s dying to muck stables with you, Rowan.”

He waved and Rowan returned the salute, heading towards the longhouse. Eivor stepped inside to the warmth and smell of already-simmering stews. There was a chatter about and many bustling about, preparing for the feast.

Eivor dropped his armor just inside his room and made for Randvi. There she was, like always, puzzling over the map and jotting with a quill in a loosely-held grip.

“Randvi!” He greeted. She looked up and brightened at his return.

“Eivor, I see you’re just in time to help me set up the feast,” She smirked and turned to him, hands on her hips.

“Ah, see, I was caught up killing bandits, Randvi. I may have some mead yet left in the longship.”

She laughed then. Their banter always came from a place of love.

“I’m joking, everything is mostly done, I suspected you would be fairly useless when you came back. I went ahead and arranged everything.”

“Thank you, Randvi.” Eivor weighed telling her the whole truth and decided her candor would be valuable.

“Do you remember Repton?”

Her brows creased, her beautiful face turning serious, hawk-like. “Yes, I do. What happened, Eivor?”

“Leofrith happened.” He watched the surprise wash over her face.

“Why was he there? Didn’t you say he was going to Rome? Was that…” She nodded towards Valka’s cottage in much the same way Rowan did, eyes widening in realization, “Was that who you brought back?” Randvi hissed, as if he could hear her from Valka’s hut.

Eivor groaned, leaning onto the table, arms outstretched and bearing his weight. “How does everyone know everything so quickly?” He murmured to himself.  
  
She laughed again, “Well, Eivor, you practically carried him through the settlement. We all have eyes.”

“That’s because he’d been captured and starved, held in a cage by those fucking leeches,” Eivor then realized his hand had curled around the pledge dagger, knuckles white and voice a low growl.

“Easy, Eivor,” Randvi held her hands out. Her eyes narrowed.

“So we’re keeping him? Is he safe?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

“He has no reason to hurt anyone here. If he does, it will be my responsibility. I do not think he will though.” He plucked the pledge dagger from the table and set it down in front of himself. Eivor shook out his hand, just now aware of how tight his grip had become on the dagger. “I am not sure if he will decide to stay.”

“Well,” Randvi set about organizing her sheafs of paper, setting them to her far table with her other various scrolls, “I am not one to exclude anyone who comes with good will.”

“He will be at the feast later, after Valka sees to him.”

“Good, I would like to meet him then.” Randvi offered an embrace then, which Eivor took gratefully. She was as close to a sister as he would ever have, and he treasured her. She was soft and comforting, patting Eivor’s bare back twice before releasing him.

“You look like you could use a rest, go on now. Everything is handled.”

“Thank you, Randvi. You are too kind,” Eivor couldn’t help the smile that cracked his whole face.

“I’ll remember that one,” She grinned.

Eivor turned and made for his room. The din of feast preparations was muffled by the heavy oaken door that swung shut behind him. His room was something special, warm and dimly lit by candles. A sanctuary. Eivor ran himself ragged for his settlement. He loved what he did for all of them but it was such a balm to his soul to have a place of his own. He lit some of Valka’s incense in a shallow stone bowl. He shed his trousers and crawled bare beneath the furs, quickly drifting off to sleep.

_A huge black wolf pacing just inside the border of fog that surrounded him – its huge head low, glowing eyes on him. Its ears pricked up, stopping to sniff curiously at the air._

_Eivor raised his bow silently, and –_

–awoke with a start, hands grasping for his weapon but closing upon the furs of his bed. He stretched, arching his back and reaching over his head for his headboard, bracing there and yawning hugely. Just beyond his door, the sounds of revelry had kicked up.

“Probably slept for a couple of hours. Best to get to the feast…”

Eivor pulled on a pair of dark trousers and a favorite blue tunic. Randvi always teased him about how much it brought out his eyes. He hunted a pair of boots and laced them up, reaching next for his axe and belt. Ever since the raid on the settlement, Eivor found it difficult to completely relax. Having at least his father’s axe at his hip was a comfort.

He sat down and braided his hair, fingers working quickly to weave his strands together. He did it the same way, every time. At this point he could do it in his sleep. It was meditative, the soft swish of his hair between his fingers.

Finished, Eivor stood and made for the door, stepping out into the activity of the longhouse. Close to everyone from the settlement was in attendance, laughing and drinking. The tables were laden with meat and platters of bread and vegetables, all smelling fragrant and delightful. Eivor took a deep breath and smiled. This was why he did what he did, why he struggled and fought. These were his people, and they had the best life here.

Loud cheers erupted from the corner where Yanli and Gunnar were starting a drinking contest, dipping their horns in a barrel of ale. Eivor scanned the tables, finding the large shape of Leofrith’s back, hunched next to the slight figure of Valka. Eivor approached, clapping a hand onto Leofrith’s shoulder and sitting on his other side. The big Saxon startled then visibly relaxed, offering Eivor a small smile. He then tucked back into his plate, picking at a huge chunk of meat.

“Hello, Eivor,” Valka purred over a flagon of mead, “Glad you could make the party.”  
  
“As am I. How are you doing, Leofrith?” Eivor asked.

He appeared to think for a minute, looking around the bustling longhouse. When his eyes turned to Eivor, he still appeared to be wary, but there was color in his face now and he was washed clean. He was clad in a dark tunic and light breeches, boots reaching to his knees. How Valka found these items, Eivor did not know, but he had a suspicion they were straight from her own loom.

“Considerably better, thank you.”

Leofrith’s dark hair was clean now, dried and curling slightly against his head. It was then that Hytham approached, whispered something in Valka’s ear. She smiled wide, getting up to follow the assassin to another table, leaving Eivor and Leofrith to themselves.

“Good to hear.”

The silence that followed between them was punctuated by the sounds of merriment and celebration. Eivor shoveled a portion of meat and potatoes onto a nearby plate and tucked in.

“I am not sure what your seer gave me, Eivor,” Leofrith’s thick accent tumbled into his ear, “But it’s made me extraordinarily hungry and rather sleepy.”

Eivor chuckled, “That, and you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in only Odin knows so long.”

Leofrith’s smile was humored, tilting his head to acknowledge Eivor’s point. He drank deep from his flagon, emptying it in one gulp.

“I now owe you my life twice over, Eivor.”

“Leofrith,” Eivor shifted on the bench to face him, “Do not feel threatened. It is a debt I do not intend on collecting. I have done for you what I wish anyone would do for me, or my people.” Leofrith stared intently at his plate, hand tightening on his fork.

“And where do I go now, hm? I am a War-Thegn with no king, no people anymore.”

“Stay here.” Eivor purred, leaning in a little closer. “I mean it. Ravensthorpe is a place for everyone, Norse and Saxon alike. You have seen my people,” Eivor waved a hand vaguely at the revellers, one particularly loud group dancing around Tarben with his lute. “They will welcome you as they have welcomed the friends that were once strangers to them.”

“And if I do not wish to stay? If I’m leaving for Rome tomorrow?”

“Then I will give you whatever you need and send you on with well wishes,” Eivor’s eyebrows knitted a bit then, “But Leofrith…” He rested a hand upon the Saxon’s shoulder, and felt the muscles there relax a little. “I know you will find your place here. If you do not trust yourself right now, put your trust in me. Put your trust in us. If not for forever, then just for a little bit. Recover, here, before you seek your revenge.”

“Eivor, you are…” Leofrith looked to the hand upon his shoulder, then to Eivor’s clear blue eyes. There was nothing but kindness there, no hidden motivation.

His jaw knitted tensely, eyes closing. “I need to sleep. I will give you my answer in the morning. Today has been… a lot to deal with.”

Eivor laughed softly, patting Leofrith’s shoulder. “Fair enough. Come with me.”

He led the way to his own room, entering and looking back to see Leofrith stood still outside the door. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Eivor sighed. Of course Leofrith would figure out he was being led to Eivor’s room.

“Come now, it’s only for one night. It’s better than trying to find you arrangements with a bunch of drunkards out there,” Eivor gestured to the feast.

Leofrith moved forward, tall in the warm space of Eivor’s room. He looked to the various furs, to Eivor’s desk, to his weapons rack. His gaze then fell upon the vikingr himself. He was exhausted, both from the day and from Valka’s brew.

“I can tell you yearn for a sleep, and where better than one of the best beds in the whole settlement?”

“Thank you, Eivor,” Leofrith’s voice was soft.

Eivor nodded, crossing back to the door and leaning against the frame. “I will leave you to it. Sleep well, Leofrith.”

Eivor shut the door behind him, heading back out into the feast. But his mind was left in his room, occupied curiously by the man that had landed into his life.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point I'm not sure how closely I'm going to stick to canon. I'm not even finished with the game myself yet (despite having ~70 hours in it...) so we will see. I will cover a couple of missions but not too many, as of right now we will mainly stick to Ravensthorpe? might just say fuck it and take it completely AU. 
> 
> can you tell i'm obsessed w/ that foals song? I highly suggest you check it out, it's haunting and the music video is incredible. 
> 
> also, THANK YOU for reading! I'm so inspired by this pairing and this whole world, please stick around! <3


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